waited anxiously for his response.
“Ah, Mon Dieu. Give me the cup,” he snarled.
Thank you, Sweet Jesu. Madeleine sent her own grateful prayer to God. She reached for the drink sitting on the bedside table and placed the pewter cup into her husband’s hands.
“I was able to mix your medicine with a little wine. Hopefully, that will hide the medicinal taste. I’m sure the wine, too, will help settle your stomach.”
Henri took a swig of the brew, his mouth creasing with disgust. He did, however, finish the contents of the cup. Escape would have been impossible otherwise.
“Disrobe me,” he ordered.
Madeleine complied, glad it would be the last time she saw his pasty flesh. Though her husband was extremely thin from eating sparsely, his belly, round and bloated, protruded from his almost skeletal frame. She credited that to all the champagne he drank. If she never tasted the frothy wine again, it would be too soon, for it would always remind her of Henri.
She helped him into the bed and quickly covered his pale skin with the linen sheets then walked quietly to the other side and slipped under the covers. She was thankful Henri did not speak. She was too tense, her nerves too raw. Soon, his breathing slowed and deep snores filled the chamber.
It was time.
She crept from the bed and quietly dressed. Her fingers trembled as she slipped on her smock, kirtle, and cotehardie. Thanks to the number of jewels she had sewn into her garments’ hems, the clothing was quite heavy. Henri had always lamented that she was useless at any of the womanly arts—sewing tapestries, supervising the household, or having babies.
That thought brought her pain. When she married Henri three years earlier, she’d longed for babies and knew her husband was eager to have a son who would inherit the de Picassaret vineyards one day. She had imagined filling the chateau with many sons and daughters, hearing their laughter, teaching and loving them as her own devoted parents had done for her and her brother.
After she saw what life with Henri would be like, she hungered for babies even more. Though it might seem selfish on her part to want to bring a child into the world whose father was a monster, Madeleine had abundant love in her heart to give to little ones—but it was not to be. Just like her husband’s two previous wives, she was barren. But throughout the last year she had harbored wicked thoughts concerning this and had foolishly voiced them to Henri one night. She accused him of being the barren one, his seed worthless in her womb.
She had paid dearly for those rash words. Henri had beaten her many times before, for even the smallest infraction, but that night was different. Usually, he only abused her back or legs, not wanting to mar what the world saw. This time, he struck her face repeatedly until her eyes had swollen shut. She also now carried a small scar at the top of her cheekbone, courtesy of his signet ring—and uncontrollable rage. Worst of all, he’d broken her knee in the vicious attack. As a result, she now walked with a slight limp.
Madeleine pushed aside the painful memories. It was obvious Henri grew tired of her. She wasn’t the young, malleable girl and hadn’t produced an heir. Instinct told her that her life was in danger. She didn’t believe his previous wives’ deaths were accidents. The opportunity to escape her nightmarish existence might never present itself again.
She crossed the chamber and reached for her lute, the one possession she valued above all others. She refused to leave the beloved instrument behind. Retrieving the rope from its hiding place under the bed, she stood and took one last look at her sleeping husband. No love filled her heart, no honor, nor loyalty. Henri had beaten any feeling she’d ever had for him out of her long ago.
She made her way hastily through the dim corridor and down the staircase. Fortunately, the layout of Frothmore was simple. In this time of peace, the sally port outside remained unguarded. Reaching it, though, would take every bit of courage she possessed. She couldn’t leave using the entrance to the keep, knowing Lord Ancil had a handful of men guarding the door on the outside. Instead, she would escape from a small window she’d located upon their arrival and head toward the sally port—and freedom.
Reaching it, the chill of the night air struck her. She realized she’d